Savage and Racy: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Bad Boys MC Trilogy Book 3)

by Violet Blaze

  “Mind if I sit a spell?”

  “Sure,” I say, adjusting myself so that I'm sitting facing her. “How are you doing?” I ask, even though I'm sure this girl's been through more than I can imagine. I've been involved with the club for what, three weeks or so? Serenity grew up here.

  “Fine,” she says, her voice tight. I remember the strange looks on her face last night, but decide to keep that observation to myself. “I was actually coming over here to check on you.”

  I smile, examining the dark glittery shadow on her lids, the red lipstick smeared across her mouth. I think she's trying to look older, but all of that color just makes her seem younger. Too young really, to be involved in last night's nonsense.

  “I appreciate that,” I say, trying not to be condescending. It feels like just yesterday that my mom was treating me like an invalid with no brain, just because I was seventeen. “But I'm great.”

  “You look like you're about ten seconds away from breaking into a sob.”

  I raise an eyebrow at that. Well if she is going to start bringing up melancholy looks …

  “I could say the same thing about you, last night in the coffee shop.”

  Serenity stiffens, her fingers curling around the silky smooth wood of the bench. The thought of cutting any of the towering sequoias around us down makes me physically ill, but damn, the things their trunks can make. No other wood in the world is as pretty.

  “That was … something different. Shouldn't you be over the moon right now? You're marrying Royal on Monday, aren't you?”

  I find myself mimicking Serenity, tightening my fingers around the bench as I struggle to find the right words. This girl looks up to me. Lying to her feels wrong. I honestly don't know if I can do it.

  “Maybe I am still stuck in last night?” I say, turning out away from the table and then looking sideways at Serenity. “What happened in that office …” I don't want to give the girl any of the gory details but Jesus, I wish I could wipe the memories away with an eraser.

  “I heard Glinda and Janae talking about Rebecca and her sister with my mom at the hospital this morning.” Serenity pauses and takes a long, slow breath, reaching up to adjust the midriff shirt she's wearing. This, too, is covered in skulls, leaving her bare belly exposed. I notice she has her belly button pierced on all four sides, making it look like a little star in the sunlight. “They were shitty people. They were luring girls into the sex trade for the cartel.”

  I feel both my brows go up.

  “They … what?”

  Serenity snorts and shakes her head, long blond hair sliding forward and falling until it hangs in front of her face like a sheet. She sweeps it back over her ear, flashing several piercings at me as she glances over with bright blue eyes.

  “Women know not to trust men, but other women make them feel safe. Rebecca and Dayna helped the cartel pick up lots of girls. Young ones, too.”

  “Where did they hear about that from?” I ask, feeling my skin get tight and cold, even with the early afternoon sunshine bathing my body in warmth.

  “Saint,” Serenity says, and the way that name slides across her lips … it hits me and I go through the whole range of emotions again. Serenity's face, the jokes the girls were making last night, the way Glacier looked when he stared at me with those cold, dead eyes of his and asked after her.

  Holy motherfudging hell.

  And fuck. That, too.

  “Well, their husbands heard it from Saint and they heard it from them. Probably tortured it out of that guy, Clayton.”

  “You're … remarkably informed for someone your age,” I say, remembering how she told me that no one pays attention to her, that they still treat her like a kid. Damn. The things Serenity must overhear.

  “Yeah, well,” Serenity says, sitting up and looking down at me. I realize then that she's several inches taller than I am. Everyone is, shouldn't surprise me. But why do I have to be outclassed by a seventeen year old? “I just thought you should know, so you didn't beat yourself up about what happened. They took over two dozen girls in the last few weeks. And their brother? That guy Royal shot in the face … he took advantage of all those girls his sisters brought in. Any woman that could do that to another woman … deserves to die.”

  “Serenity,” I start, not exactly sure what I'm supposed to say to that.

  “Besides, Rebecca and Dayna, they robbed a liquor store once and killed the clerk. Just because. Bet you didn't know about that either.”

  Serenity stands up suddenly and cracks her knuckles, trying to smile in my direction.

  “Sorry if I rained on your parade, but it already looked like you were sitting in a storm cloud of your own making.”

  “What about you?” I ask, feeling suddenly bold as I stare up into her face. “Anything I can do to help you?” Serenity just stares at me for several seconds, like she has no idea where to start.

  “Something about … Glacier, maybe?” I ask and her face drops, turning ashen.

  “There's nothing you can say or do that'll help me with Glacier,” she tells me, sounding a decade older all of a sudden. “Just … please don't tell my mother that anything's going on between us. I mean, nothing is actually going on, but … shit.” She runs her hands over her face and then drops them to stare at me.

  “I won't tell anyone, I promise,” I say and then lift myself up, glancing quickly over at the front door when Royal appears in his heavy black boots and leather vest, a goddamn dream with a sultry little half-smirk on his face. I glance back at Serenity and lean in close. “If you need help though, if he's hurting you or pressuring you—”

  She laughs, a small, harsh, cynical little laugh that makes me feel sad for her.

  “He's not. He won't look at me. Talk to me. Touch me.” Serenity shakes her head and smiles a sad smile, saluting me as she backs away in her skinny jeans and leather riding boots. “I like you, Lyric. Try not to become too good of friends with my mom because you know, it'd be weird for us to be friends, too. And I'd like that, if we could be friends. Really.” She turns away and starts across the still wet pavement, the smell of industrial bleach making the air pungent and sharp. “See you later, Miss Mayor.”

  “What the bloody hell was that about?” Royal asks, lifting his boot up onto the bench where I'm sitting and sliding a cigarette from his back pocket with a slow, easy motion that makes my skin feel hot and tight. He sticks it between those full lips of his, the gentle shadow of stubble on his face practically begging for me to touch it as he lights up.

  “How long have you known?” I ask him, crossing my arms over my chest and giving him my best no-bullshit look, perfected after years of watching my mother throw it at Kailey, Sully, and me.

  “Known?” he asks, acting all innocent and sexy and delicious as he leans forward, putting his weight on his knee and smoking his cigarette. “About what, love?”

  “About Glacier and Serenity,” I say flatly and watch as Royal's brows rise up in surprise.

  “How the hell do you know about that?”

  “I'm going to assume then, based on your statement, that you've known for a while. Royal McBride, she is seventeen years old for Christ's sake. And how old is Glacier? Twenty-five?”

  “He's thirty years old.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I say because I'm dually surprised/disgusted. First off, Glacier doesn't look anywhere near thirty years old. When I said twenty-five, I was guessing high based solely off his position in the club. And second … what the fuck. “Did you just hear yourself? He's practically twice her age.”

  “I can do the math, Pint-Size.”

  “Yeah? And?” I stand up and for once in my life, I get to look down at him as he sits fully down on the bench. “What are you going to do about it?”

  “It was a one time thing. It's not happening ever again.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask, keeping my arms crossed over my chest. Royal checks out my breasts which is fine because I actually like when he looks a
t me like that, but screw him anyway. “Have you talked to him about it?”

  “He wants me to send him to Alaska,” Royal says with a long sigh, running his hand over his face like this is the last thing in the world he needs right now. “I need him here, but if that's what it takes, I'll do it. Jack finds out about this and he'll kill Saint. Or Saint will kill him if he tries.”

  “What a nightmare,” I whisper as I shake my head and brush my fingers through my hair, examining Royal's muscular form, taut and hard and perfect even just leaning back against the table for a smoke. How the hell am I going to give that up? He's like a drug. The worst kind. Addictive and powerful and mind-altering. “Serenity told me some things about Rebecca and Dayna and sex trafficking …”

  “Jesus. How the hell do you people know all this shit that's supposed to be secret? My bloody brothers and their bloody big mouths.”

  “I'm sorry you had to shoot her, Royal,” I say anyway, and I mean that. Just because she was a bad person, it doesn't necessarily make it easier to watch her die. He knew her. He was friends with her. Even if he won't say it aloud, I can see his spirit is crushed.

  And I'm going to make that even worse, aren't I?

  I hate myself a little bit in that moment.

  “Any word from Agent Shelley?” he asks, trying to change the subject. I let him do it, shaking my head.

  “None. But then, I didn't expect her to relay FBI business back in my direction after I told her all that. Pretty sure this info sharing thing is a one way street.” I pause and then move forward, taking advantage of our new closeness to straddle his lap. It's been forever since … well, no, it's been never since I felt this comfortable with a guy, like I could touch him, tease him, kiss him. Like he was mine.

  Royal's hand drops almost automatically to my hip, and I feel his body respond to my nearness. Maybe I'm a drug for him, too?

  I wrap my arms around his neck and breathe in his scent, pressing our cheeks together.

  “Keep that up, Pint-Size, and I'll have you on your back in one of the dorm rooms in no time.”

  “Is that supposed to be a threat?” I ask and Royal flicks his cigarette away, grabbing onto my hip with his other hand and tugging me forward so that we're in a very compromising position.

  “You know,” he starts as I wiggle my hips and watch as he's forced to clench his teeth against the sensation, “you look good here.”

  “On your lap?”

  “Well, there, obviously, but I meant on the compound. You look good in jeans and leather, even better with a gun in your hand. You're fitting in with the girls, and these stubborn assholes I call my brothers are finally fucking letting up on my ass for bringing you around. If you wanted, you could slip right in and be a part of the fabric of this place.”

  I feel my breath slide out until my chest gets tight.

  “I glanced at the bylaws, you know, just now. There's nothing in there that says women can't patch in.”

  “Royal,” I start, but he's got this look in his eye that I don't know that I can snuff out. Really, I tell myself this is kinder, to let him hope and then rip the Band-Aid off at the last second. But in all actuality, I'm a coward. I should tell him now that I've made up my mind, that I'm leaving, that this … whatever it is that he's going on about is a pipe dream.

  “Back in the day, it must've just seemed so obvious to the founders that there'd be no women that they didn't bother to write it down. But if it's not in the constitution, then it's not law around here. That's the way it works.”

  “Don't get yourself into trouble with your brothers just because you've got some fantasy about me riding around on the back of your bike with you.”

  “Don't see why I couldn't teach you to ride a bike of your own.”

  “Royal, stop,” I say, taking his face in my hands. “Don't do this to yourself.”

  “Don't do what?” he asks, getting angry. I think he's about to push me off when instead, he grips harder and drags me closer. “Let myself hope? I knew from moment one that we would never be together. I knew that, Pint-Size, but I let myself wish for it anyway, made a fool of myself by asking you to marry me. Made that stupid fucking speech about being good enough for you. But I'm not, am I?”

  “What are you doing?” I ask, feeling hurt as he finally does push me off and onto the bench, standing up and running his fingers through his hair. Royal looks like a man pushed to the brink right now. Like a very dangerous man pushed to the brink. I think about the way he lifted the gun to that blond guy's face and pulled the trigger, spattering me with blood and God only knows what else last night. He didn't have to think about it, not for a split second. And he knew that guy. Personally. Yes, the man was apparently a rapist and a sex trafficker and whatever else, but damn. Maybe Royal isn't just at the brink but starting to fall over the edge? “Don't push me away.”

  “Push you away? You're going to run away, aren't you?”

  He looks right at me, meets my eyes and steals my breath away.

  I start to panic.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You're leaving. On Monday. You won't be at that courthouse, will you? No matter how long I wait, you won't bloody be there. And even though I fucking know that … I know that,” he snarls, slapping his tattooed knuckles against the palm of his other hand, “I'll still be there. Like a blithering twat, I'll stand there with my VP and his wife and I'll let them see how goddamn right they were.”

  “Can we please talk about this calmly?” I ask and he laughs, this horrible pained sound that vaguely reminds me of Serenity. It's a laugh of impossibility, and it's terrifying.

  “You're not denying it. Why?”

  “I told you my decision wasn't going to be final until Monday …” Only it is and I just don't know what to say, how to say it.

  “You book a flight already? Or were you planning on hitchhiking at the airport?”

  “Of course I booked a flight, but it can be cancelled …” Jesus. I need to stop lying. Right now. I have to stop. “Royal, what are you doing this for all of a sudden? I thought we were having a good day. Why bring this up now?”

  He turns away from me and pushes his fingers through his dark hair.

  “Make a lunch appointment with your FBI friend. See if you can get even the slightest idea of what they might be planning. Because if you don't, we have no choice but to move on the cartel on Tuesday. Can you do that for me before you go?”

  “I think we should have lunch together. Right now. Somewhere other than here.”

  “Other than here?” Royal asks as he gestures at the compound with his hand. “There is no other for me, love. This is it. This is all. I am the club, and the club is me. There's no separating the two of us.”

  “You know what I meant,” I whisper, terrified that the closeness I'd just been admiring between us is fading away just as fast as it came on. I want him to touch me and kiss me and hold me, but all he's doing is staring, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with shadows. “If this is about last night—”

  “I'm torn, Pint-Size,” he says, moving close to me, crouching down with the rustle of leather and the smell of fresh pine and wet earth. Royal puts his hands on my knees. “Every fucking ounce of my soul wants you to stay, but my heart and my head know that you should go. This life, covered in blood and bullshit, killing women with kids and getting shot in grocery store parking lots, it's not the life I want for you. You're so goddamn smart, Lyric. You'd be wasted here and yet … yet, I can't stop wanting it.”

  My mouth trembles and I realize my hands are starting to shake, but I don't know what to do. I haven't known what to do with Royal McBride from the start, not since he first turned those dark eyes on me in this very parking lot, outside this very clubhouse.

  “I want to marry you and take you home on the back of my bike. I want to fuck you in a white wedding dress and I don't give a shit if we have kids or we don't, or if you work in the mayor's office or hell, if you are the bloody mayor. Or, if you're
sick of all that crap, of trying to be what everyone else wants you to be all the time, come here. I'll make you a prospect. Who the fuck's going to stop me? Me and Glacier and Smoky and Mug, just us, we could take on a hundred fucking assholes with opinions.”

  My eyes are watering so bad right now, I can hardly see a thing.

  “You're not being fair,” I tell him, and I know he knows it, too. “You're not being fair at all.”

  I stand up and try to move away, but Royal won't let me go, grabbing onto my elbow and pulling me back.

  “I know I'm not being fair. I … keep trying to talk myself out of this, trying to talk myself into letting you go. But … bleeding hell, it's hard. And every second I see you sitting here in jeans and leather boots, it gets harder. Every night you spend in my bed makes it damn near impossible.”

  “Let go of me,” I whisper, but the words are quiet and empty. I feel like I'm breaking into pieces. Find what motivates you. That's what Heather Shelley said, but I … I just don't know anything anymore.

  “Stay with me,” Royal breathes, dragging me against him, cheating at this game yet again. “Stay with me,” he whispers against my ear. “Tell me that you will … or go. If you don't leave right now, I won't be able to watch you walk away on Monday. I don't know what I'll do to keep you here, but I don't want to find out.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I tell him, using the last ounce of willpower that I have to wiggle out of his grip. He lets me go and I stumble a few steps, putting a hand on the decorative wooden fence that surrounds the picnic area. I turn on Royal with tears stuck to my cheeks, and I don't give a crap if any of the other Alpha Wolves are watching. “Don't be selfish.”

  “Why not? It's what you're doing, right? Making a decision for you. Well, I'm making this one for me. Stay here with me … or leave. And it isn't reverse psychology this time, Pint-Size. This time, I'm fucking serious.”

  “You're a fucking asshole,” I yell at him, clenching my hands into fists.

  Royal just crosses his arms over his chest, his face blank and empty all of a sudden as he stares at me with dark eyes.